Ever the Hunted (Clash of Kingdoms #1)(34)

I frown and pad along the plank flooring, following Cohen down the hall. His shoulders fill the entry as he turns the last door’s knob and gestures for me to pass.

“Where are you staying?” I ask at the same time he says, “We’re in here.”

“We’re?”

Cohen nudges me forward and closes the solid wood door behind him, sliding the lock in place, before speaking in low tones. “It would’ve looked odd if the lad traveling with me needed a room to himself.”

All right, that makes sense. And yet he could’ve just told Kendrick I’m a girl.

I look pointedly at Cohen, who somehow seems three times larger in the weak light filtering between the linen curtains, before stepping around him to study the room.

One bed. One chair.

Thankfully Cohen remains behind me, so he cannot see how my eyes grow two sizes bigger. There’s no need to feel self-conscious. After all, we’ve been sleeping by each other for the last week. Even so, my insides could be a gaggle of geese for all the chaos beneath my skin. It takes a moment to shutter my reaction away, then I turn back to face him and—?boil the bludger—?Cohen doesn’t appear the least bit affected.





Chapter

16


“WORRIED?” HE READS ME SO WELL. “I’ll take the floor.”

There’s no rug to cushion the dark tea-stained planked floor. It’s not an improvement over the forest’s packed dirt, which is the entire reason Cohen wanted to sleep here.

“You wanted a bed; you have it,” I tell him.

He folds his arms and stares at me, throwing down an unspoken challenge.

I stare back. I once heard the phrase He who talks first loses. So when Cohen opens his mouth to speak, I throw a little victory celebration in my head until he says, “This isn’t up for discussion.”

Mule.

“Exactly,” I retort. “My choice is the floor.”

A line furrows between his brows. He waves a hand at the bed. “It’s more comfortable.”

“Which is why you should sleep there.”

He grits his teeth. “You’re always so stubborn. So pigheaded.”

“Pigheaded? Me?” I hit him with an incredulous stare. He has little room to be talking. After all, we’re at the inn despite my protests. His head jerks in a sharp nod, like adding kindling to a fire, and my temper flares.

“Britt, you would fight me on a request even if I were taking my last begging breath.”

Bloody bludger. I throw my pack on the bed and spin to face him, hands in fists. “You think I wouldn’t care that you were dying as long as I was getting my way?”

The fire and frustration in his eyes flicker and dim to something softer. My challenge hangs between us. Cohen’s unfocused gaze carries over my head, and I wonder where his thoughts have taken him, though I don’t dare break the silence. He just stands there, a one-man island between the door and bed.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” he says, subdued. “I’ve no doubt you’d care if I were dying.” He coughs the grating from his throat. “Forgive me, Dove. I’m sorry.”

His apology doesn’t crack the wall I’ve erected between us; it obliterates it.

Emboldened by his sweet resignation, I glance at the bed that is barely large enough for two people. “We can share. It’s only for a couple nights.”

His eyes leap to mine.

I feign nonchalance, though I’m thinking and rethinking and overthinking my offer. The area in the woods we shared was about the same size. It would be no different from sleeping outside, except for the roof above our heads and the soft mattress.

He looks at the bed, then me. His gaze turns molten. “If you’re certain.”

I look away. “If you make it an issue, then I’ll take back the offer. Or if you snore, I’ll push you onto the floor. There are enough bears in the woods—”

“You don’t want another in your bed.” He finishes, matching the cheek in my answer. But his playfulness makes me dizzy.

“Just don’t snore,” I say in a rasp. I turn away, hiding my face, and remove my weapons, placing them on the floor near the bed. Cohen does the same after he sharpens the blade of his sword and checks the arrows in his quiver. A bucket of warm water and a bar of soap later, I’ve washed myself clean while Cohen is gone from the room. When he returns, his skin is scrubbed free of dirt and his cheeks are tinged pink.

The moment we both stand on either side of the bed, my nerves come alive again like lightning bugs. I look to Cohen, hoping he’ll make the first move. He doesn’t so much as blink. Ignoring the commotion buzzing beneath my skin, I climb onto the mattress.

A second later, Cohen drops down beside me. His weight indents the mattress, causing me to roll against his body. His very warm body.

Sucking in a sharp breath, I scramble to the edge of the bed and turn to look at the plaster above us.

Cohen’s soft chuckle echoes in the darkness. “You’d think I actually was a bear for how skittish you are tonight.”

“It’s your odor I was avoiding.”

He turns his nose into himself and draws a deep breath. “I smell just right,” he says, sounding incensed.

I can hardly stifle my laughter. I open my mouth to tease him more, but before another word is out, the brute covers me with his hulking form. “Admit I smell just fine, Britt.”